


Other Avocations of Women

by februyuri



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 09:03:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19128847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/februyuri/pseuds/februyuri
Summary: Cassandra has often been made the victim of other people’s assumptions. People think a woman who crops her hair short and calls herself a warrior must not be interested in love and romance, perhaps not even men. So she does not care about assumptions, until an assumption she held about one of her colleagues is betrayed when Vivienne demonstrates interest in women – interest in Cassandra herself.





	Other Avocations of Women

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hibernate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hibernate/gifts).



> CW: alcohol, sex, sexism, internalized homophobia

**I**

Cassandra did not often drink. It was her association with the Chantry and her general dislike of drunken people. That wasn’t to say that she didn’t enjoy a good mead every now and then, or a red wine, but she was skeptical that Skyhold’s freshly refurbished tavern would yet stock anything of the sort. Still, Iron Bull had roped her into attending the grand opening.

“Ask Vivienne to come!” Bull beseeched her. “She wouldn’t listen to me, but, get a few drinks in her, and I _know_ she’d put on a magic show for us.” He sounded like he was salivating at the opportunity to see such a show of power.

“Perhaps that’s why she never went drinking with you in Haven,” Cassandra replied wrly, not knowing why Bull would ask her, of all people, to beg Vivienne along. Josephine or Leliana would have better luck, given that they had the patience for social niceties, but two of them were already ankles-deep in drink.

“Go on,” Bull insisted, angling as though he planned to give her a shove, but deciding against it. Cassandra rolled her eyes and strode up to Vivienne.

Vivienne was standing up on the ramparts, not too far from Bull’s bedroom, in the sunlight, the chilly winds ruffling her skirts. She looked statuesque against the crisp blue sky, like a painting that could have been hung in any noble house in Val Royeaux. She was overlooking the battlements with a clear focus though she didn’t startle at all when Cassandra approached her.

“Are you not cold up here?” Cassandra asked, unable to help but wonder.

“Not at all, my dear,” Vivienne replied, turning to Cassandra. Cassandra looked Vivienne over. She was wearing her typical attire, a dress which was both formal and battle-ready, somehow. The material was strong, yet silken, and the top was low-cut, revealing the mole above her heart. Cassandra decided there must have been some type of magic warming her. When Cassandra looked back up to Vivienne’s face she could see that Vivienne was watching her, amused.

“Did you come here with a purpose, darling?” she asked, twisting her body to face Cassandra more directly, clearly teasing her. Cassandra felt her cheeks heat.

“Bull and I are headed down to the tavern,” she said, feeling inexplicably awkward. “Would you like to join us?” Vivienne smiled, almost pityingly, and Cassandra felt a flash of irritation because she already knew the answer.

“Thank you, my dear,” Vivienne said delicately. Every single word that crossed her lips was hand-picked and inspected before serving. “But I’ll remain up here. Closer to the Maker.” Vivienne was irritating and Cassandra felt it then, that familiar irritation templars felt about cocky mages.

“Naturally,” Cassandra bit out. From the moment she’d met Vivienne she had been skeptical of her devoutness and even now Vivienne seemed to be making more of a mockery of her than anything else.

“Unless, you would like me to accompany _you,”_ Vivienne spoke up lightly. Cassandra stirred.

“How do you mean?” she asked. She at times had difficulties meeting Vivienne’s eye, too intent and knowing was the mage’s gaze, but Cassandra stared back at Vivienne now, confused.

“Nevermind, darling,” Vivienne said, with no less regard but her words were more guarded. “Evidently, I was mistaken.” She gave Cassandra a cordial smile and bid her on her way.

Had Vivienne thought . . . that Cassandra had been flirting? Because Cassandra had _not_. But if Vivienne had mistaken her invitation – had she been open to it? Or was she merely attempting to uncover some breaks in Cassandra’s armor to exploit if need be. If so, Vivienne wouldn’t be successful, given that Cassandra had only ever been with men, or – one man, to be precise.

Regardless, if it _had_ been a genuine . . . flirtation, surely Vivienne wouldn’t have been so . . . _brazen_. Perhaps infidelity was more acceptable in Val Royeaux, given that Vivienne was already a mistress, but Vivienne being unfaithful with someone as devout as Cassandra, with a woman, Vivienne would not be so foolish. Still, when Cassandra reached the steps that lead off the ramparts, she turned to look back at Vivienne, staring out at the horizon as though they had never spoken.

Cassandra had never been interested in women, despite what others would believe. Even the Inquisitor had invited such hypothetical attention. It had taken Cassandra months into their friendship to realize that the Inquisitor had been flirting with her. Quite heavily, in retrospect. While Cassandra had taken the flattery with pleasure it could not go on forever and when the flirtations had come to a head, Cassandra had let down her friend as gently as she was able.

Down in the tavern, sampling the swill Skyhold had to offer, Cassandra couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened, what it could mean.Vivienne had possibly made the same assumption that so many made about Cassandra. These assumptions had little to do with who Cassandra was, but how she appeared. The way she carried herself, the length of her hair, her scars and her demeanor.

Both men and women assumed Cassandra was attracted to women, or failing that, perhaps simply wasn’t attracted to anyone, least of all men. Over her lifetime, Cassandra had devoted more time considering why than she would’ve like to, and she had come to a few conclusions.

It seemed a rule that boyish women rolled with women more often than they rolled with men, if at all. But, to Cassandra, this was not so much the fault of boyish women, as it was of boyish men! Men often had difficulties with women that were their equals in combat; either they wished to break her down into something more palatable, or they viewed her as an equal and thus a man and off-limits in some strange sense. So women who were in love with these unfortunate men would bow to some level of frippery Cassandra never had.

She was nearly forty years old and had only had a handful of loves in her life, and she knew that this could be in large part attributed to those assumptions. And Cassandra knew how she appeared. But it was the assumptions that bothered her. That she couldn’t be soft, couldn’t desire romance, couldn’t have some girlish part of herself. Couldn’t even love, perhaps. Even _Bull_ thought Cassandra was a man.

“The Chief’s an idiot,” Krem said helpfully when Cassandra, perhaps a little drunken, broached the topic. Bull grumbled.

“I’m just saying,” he said, taking a large gulp from his drink. “You people – you say that men and women are different because of how they were born, not who they become. And then you go on and put limits on what men and women can become. Even your Divine, she can only be a woman. And Vints only let men do the job. You pretend that it’s not about that, but it is. At least _my_ people are upfront about it.”

Cassandra frowned. She wasn’t about to take a Qunari’s criticism on how the Chantry ran, but she could begin to see his point. The fact that Cassandra was unusual among women sometimes translated to people treating her as – _not_ one, somehow, and this had been a pattern she had noticed in her years. Bull’s attitude chafed her nevertheless.

“What about Sera?” Cassandra asked, nearly spilling her drink as she gesticulated. “She’s a rogue. That’s nearly a warrior.” Bull grunted, a show of irritation.

“I don’t constantly think about the gender of my colleagues,” he said. Evading the question.

“So, Sera _is_ a man, then,” Cassandra said, angling her mug at him, triumphant.

“Of course not. And clearly things are more complicated this side of the world,” Bull grouched. “I _know_  you’re not a man – I’m not a _child_.” He was certainly sulking like one, Cassandra thought.

“What are the hallmarks that men exhibit, then?” she asked, if he wouldn’t speak plainly.

“Big,” Bull said immediately. “Muscular. Soldiers, workers.” He sounded lecherous and Krem was rolling his eyes.

“It’s that simple?” Cassandra asked. She was muscular, she was a soldier. She was taller than most women, the height of many men – Bull excluded, of course. The hat and the heels made Vivienne an imposing figure, but Cassandra knew she had a few inches on her, and all the rest of the women in the Inquisition.

“There _is_ other stuff,” Bull grunted. “We usually dress differently, because of our jobs. And women use different horn wax. Smells . . . fruitier. Men usually go shirtless –”

“And bind,” Krem called out, downing his pitcher.

“And they like women,” Bull concluded. That was a surprise.

“But you,” Cassandra stumbled. “You and Dorian.” She read a lot of romance novels, but surely she hadn’t mistaken their flirting, regardless of how antagonistic it could be at times.

“I like all types,” Bull said dismissively. “And I’m a spy, I have a little more leeway. I’m just telling you what’s typical.” Cassandra frowned into her drink.

Krem’s gaze was fixed on the lutist in the center of the bar. Maryden. So, he liked women then.

“What about Vivienne?” Cassandra asked, turning back to Bull. “When she brings out her Knight Enchanter blade? Does she become a man, then?” Iron Bull let out a deep delighted laugh.

“Oh no,” he said. He stirred his drink around in his mug and took a large gulp. “No, no,” he sighed, a look of appreciation in his eyes. “ _That’s_ a woman.”

Cassandra could not argue that.

**II**

Cassandra had bled first blood in the Fade. Vivienne had beseeched the Inquisitor to give them a moment for Vivienne to observe the injury – given that they were in another realm, she was curious to know how it may affect wounds – but Cassandra had insisted on pressing on. She had suffered far worse and Vivienne, unsatisfied, relented.

Safely back in Haven, however, Vivienne struck again. “The healer is a butcher incapable of recognizing maggots as spoilage,” she huffed, up in her work area with Cassandra. “See her if you wish.” Cassandra smiled.

Cassandra had agreed to let Vivienne look at her wounds and had come to Vivienne’s workspace after dinner where there was a little more privacy than the dining hall. It was more exposed than, say, Josephine’s bedroom, which overlooked Skyhold’s garden, but it was late and very few, if any, people were still awake.

“I trust you, Vivienne,” Cassandra offered, moving to sit in one of Vivienne’s chairs. She would be a fool not to. Vivienne was well-adept at seemingly all magical arts, including healing. While Cassandra was more comfortable with methods requiring a less careful, less _magical,_ touch, she knew that Vivienne’s ministrations would be more efficient.

“I must admit my reasons for wanting to check your injuries are not _entirely_ altruistic,” Vivienne allowed. “I am still curious about the nature of them.” She smiled charmingly, holding up a bottle of alcohol and two glasses. “Wine?”

“Vivienne,” Cassandra mused. “Are you trying to ply me with alcohol?”

“However else shall I win your favour?” Vivienne responded. In truth, she had already won Cassandra’s favour. They did not agree on most issues but . . . Cassandra had tried to become more comfortable admiring the woman. There was much to be admired about Vivienne, after all, despite Cassandra’s preconceptions.

Cassandra could appreciate Vivienne’s practiced and delicate touch for healing that neither Solas nor Dorian could exhibit. Vivienne also understood Cassandra’s concerns about magic. And lastly, in truth, Cassandra was likewise curious about how _Vivienne_ had fared in the Fade. It had been unsettling for everyone.

Vivienne poured their wine as Cassandra settled more completely in the chair across from Vivienne’s couch, trying to be comfortable in the woman’s domain. “What of _your_ injuries?” Cassandra asked. Cassandra had likely _not_ been the only one to sustain wounds in the Fade, regardless of how adept Vivienne was at raising her barriers.

“All the more reason to compare, my dear,” Vivienne said, and her voice was as cool and inviting as a fresh river in spring. “Our relationship to the Fade is quite different.” Cassandra swallowed, finding her mouth dry.

“Where were you injured?” she asked. In all honesty, she hadn’t noticed Vivienne stumble in battle. Cassandra, as was her custom, had charged on ahead, trusting her ability to guard and Vivienne’s ability to watch her back. Casting barriers was only possible on a limited range and she had felt Vivienne’s barrier rippling across her skin during battle. Had she been out of Vivienne’s range when Vivienne had cast that spell?

“I can show you if you so desire,” Vivienne said, reaching out to gently press her fingers against Cassandra’s forearm in a show of reassurance. “But now, my dear, I must ask that you take your top off.”

_“What?”_ Cassandra asked. She must have looked incredibly offended because Vivienne laughed.

“I would like to inspect your injury and I can’t quite accomplish that with armor in the way,” she explained, or really – insisted. Cassandra stared at Vivienne a moment before remembering why she had come. Cassandra shrugged off her armor and then, feeling shy, undid her jacket and blouse, peeling back the fabric to reveal the injuries on her shoulder, ribs, and back.

“May I?” Vivienne asked lightly. Cassandra nodded and Vivienne reached forward to card her hand along Cassandra’s skin to undo Cassandra’s bandages. They had not talked about the implications of what had transpired between them weeks ago, and Cassandra had long-since dismissed them as the consequence of an overactive imagination on her part.

Still . . . there was something about the way Vivienne spoke to Cassandra at times. Like she was waiting for Cassandra to walk into a trap. It made Cassandra feel apprehensive, but more than that it made her feel curious because Vivienne would be placing herself as bait. That was quite a risk for Vivienne to take, if that was what she was doing, and Cassandra had rarely been one to turn down a dare.

With Vivienne’s touch, Cassandra’s skin swam with electricity. “My dear, please stop fidgeting,” Vivienne lectured. Clearly she hadn’t started to use any magic. Cassandra took in a breath, surprised to find how shaky it was to take in.

“Is this tender?” Vivienne asked, pressing her hands lightly on Cassandra’s ribs near the bruising flesh, long fingers skimming just beneath Cassandra’s heart. Cassandra breathed out, reaching to place her hand on Vivienne’s.

“It’s alright, Vivienne,” she said, and her voice came out choked. Vivienne glanced up at Cassandra, eyes wide with apparent surprise. Her eyes were very dark, and so oddly colourless they appeared nearly gray, like the sky just after twilight.

“You mustn’t run on ahead,” Vivienne fretted, carefully lifting up Cassandra’ arm to inspect the wound that crossed onto her back. “At least hesitate for a few seconds, for my benefit.”

“It is how I was trained,” Cassandra said, feeling apologetic. “Strike first, and fast, and until the enemy falls.”

“We do not fight on training grounds,” Vivienne retorted, closing her eyes and concentrating, hands perched lightly on Cassandra’s body.

In truth, it was a lovely night. The moon hung low overhead, casting Vivienne in a mixture of cool tones and warm, from the candles Vivienne had about her space. The air was sweet, inviting, and the world was quiet. Cassandra could feel her skin burn cool and soft as though fresh river water was flowing across, through it, as Vivienne held her.

“There,” Vivienne said, pleased, running her hand across Cassandra’s skin in the absence of injury. Cassandra was taken off-guard. Vivienne had indeed healed her wounds. And, next to that, she was startlingly close to Cassandra.

“Thank you,” Cassandra said, reaching over to the stack of books Vivienne had perched her glass on. “Where were you hurt, Vivienne?” she asked, taking a drink of wine, desperate from sort of distraction from the pace of her own heart. Vivienne looked surprised, then she tutted her tongue.

“It’s no matter,” Vivienne said, her hands surprisingly gentle as she pulled down Cassandra’s top. She turned around to sit on her couch across from Cassandra. “My injuries were minor.”

“As were mine,” Cassandra argued, leaning forward.

“Only compared to your usual fair,” Vivienne smirked. A dig at the fact that Cassandra so often fell in battle.

“And yours?” Cassandra asked, not to be dissuaded or insulted.

“I am . . . unused to physical injuries,” Vivienne admitted. Cassandra knew she preferred to freeze her enemies if they neared her. “A shade managed to swipe its claws across my torso. But I assure you, my dear, the indignity of touching such a vile creature was far worse than the wound.”

“Are you healed?” Cassandra asked. Vivienne looked at her for a moment.

“I will be,” she said, guarded. “Given time.” She hadn’t asked Dorian or Solas for help with her injury, then.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t give maggots a try?” Cassandra asked. Vivienne laughed, recognizing the joke for what it was. They were coming to know each other.

“Perhaps I should,” Vivienne said, looking on Cassandra with what Cassandra could only interpret as fondness.

“I might have some practical advice for your injury,” Cassandra said, setting down her glass. “I suspect I’ve sustained more injuries than you have.” Cassandra could have kicked herself knowing how poorly this fact reflected on her.

“You have fought more battles than I have, my dear,” Vivienne said kindly, as though she could sense Cassandra’s regret. “Pride is all well and good, when earned, but to refuse the advice of the experienced is lunacy.” She turned her body from Cassandra then. “Might you undo my dress to examine me?”

Heart in her throat, Cassandra got off her seat and stepped closer to Vivienne on the couch. There were a dozen or more small buttons lining the back of Vivienne’s dress. How Vivienne dressed by herself was a mystery beyond Cassandra’s ken, but Vivienne must have her ways. Taking care to make no foolish mistakes, Cassandra sat down behind Vivienne and set to work undoing the buttons.

Vivienne took in a breath, straightening her posture, as Cassandra worked, revealing more and more skin, velvet and nearly blue in the night. Cassandra boxed herself internally for thinking unprofessional thoughts about what she was doing . . . she and Vivienne were both women, both interested in men, and they were colleagues. Hard-pressed, you could call them friends. This was nothing more than what it was.

When Cassandra reached the last button, successfully unclasping it, Vivienne reached about to pull the sleeves off her body, turning around to face Cassandra and letting her dress pool about her waist. A sheer white bodice covered her chest, more floral and less practical than Cassandra had expected of Vivienne . . . not that Cassandra had been expecting anything of Vivienne’s undergarments.

“As you can see,” Vivienne spoke up, dashing Cassandra’s thoughts. “I am still nursing my wound.” Cassandra dragged her eyes south of Vivienne’s dainty bodice to her ribcage. There, the swollen skin, stood out even in the dim lighting – angry and sore. “It is wise that one not become dependant on magic,” Vivienne explained. This, Cassandra understood.

“Might I –” she tried, reaching out a hand.

“My dear, I would be a hypocrite to refuse you,” Vivienne said, giving Cassandra a charming smile and reclining slightly on her couch, only her elbows holding her upright now, posture inviting.

“I have a salve,” Cassandra said, turning away from Vivienne and fumbling through the pouch about her waist to produce a tube. “I have been using it ever since I was a young girl for various scrapes. It encourages healing.” She felt silly, sitting before the mage. “Adan has approved its use.”

“My dear, if I didn’t already trust you, I would trust Adan’s judgement implicitly,” Vivienne smiled indulgently. “Might you show me how to apply it?”

“Oh, it’s simple,” Cassandra said, the skin of her face burning. “It is good for most things – scrapes, bruises, even burns.” She sat down next to Vivienne on the couch, Vivienne perching daintily on its edge, Cassandra level with her.

This close, and both sitting down without wearing clothes that would make them seem larger, or much clothing at all for that matter, Cassandra could see that she was larger than Vivienne despite what an intimidating figure Vivienne could make. Vivienne’s frame was firm but slight. Her strength was not physical as it was with Cassandra.

Vivienne was similar to Cassandra. Men were often too intimidated to approach her. But they differed in the fact that Vivienne actively discouraged them. She was already devoted to Bastien, and far outside the league of these men but she was so beautiful men thought that they should try for her affections. While Cassandra did not like these men she could hardly blame them.

Cassandra scooped some of the salve onto her fingertips and carefully began to soothe the cream onto Vivienne’s injury. Vivienne’s skin was incredibly soft and almost shockingly warm. And Cassandra’s hands looked so . . . plain next to the white lace decorating Vivienne’s chest. Cassandra almost felt as though her hands were too dirty to touch Vivienne, while Cassandra had recently washed them and always kept her fingernails well maintained. They just simply seemed unbefitting.

Vivienne didn’t make a noise as Cassandra massaged the balm into her skin, though Cassandra knew from experience that such a concoction could sting. Even Cassandra’s hands prickled, pressing the salve onto Vivienne’s injury. “It’s a mixture of embrium, elfroot, and small amounts of rashvine, primarily,” Cassandra explained.

“I can smell the embrium,” Vivienne said encouragingly, eyes trained on Cassandra. Cassandra didn’t trust herself to elaborate beyond what she had said. She tried to focus on the salve, on Vivienne’s injury, and not – quite frankly – Vivienne’s breasts, just above, round and soft and bound by the white fabric she wore.

“You have very gentle hands, Cassandra,” Vivienne spoke up.

Cassandra laughed. “Truly?” she asked. She would describe them as calloused.

“Oh yes,” Vivienne said seriously. “I feel like a dashing knight, injured by a dragon, whose ladylove is nursing back to health.” She was joking, of course, but something in her words clenched in Cassandra’s throat.

“It’s funny,” Cassandra admitted, “to be the maiden not the warrior for once.” Vivienne smiled conspiratorially.

“Not to offend, my dear, but you strike me as both,” she said. She leaned in a little closer, her abdomen pressing against Cassandra’s open palm. “And, truth be told, it’s the best way to be.” From an aesthetic point of view, like that of someone admiring a painting, Vivienne had a lovely mouth.

“And you Vivienne?” Cassandra asked, feeling slightly out of breath, looking away. “Which would you be?”

“My darling, I’m a mage,” Vivienne said slowly, deliberately. “And you, a Seeker. Which would you say I am?” Vivienne was not simply a knight. Vivienne was the maiden and the monster. She was all these things, and more, and she was very close to Cassandra now, the sharp smell of rashvine gently burning the air along with the light, floral scent of embrium. Vivienne felt dangerous. She felt inviting. And she felt forgiving.

Cassandra’s body was burning to be so near to Vivienne, and she didn’t know why. All she knew was that Vivienne was nearly nude before her, just clothing separating them now, and Cassandra suddenly, desperately, wanted to change that. She wanted to unwrap Vivienne like a parcel and – and – and she didn’t know what.

She caught Vivienne watching her, sly as a cat, but the darks of her eyes were wide and all-encompassing, like parts of the night sky had found their way into her. “I am a _woman,_ Cassandra,” she said softly. “As you are. That is all.”

That should have served as a reminder to Cassandra. A reminder of her place, of who she was speaking to. But it did not. Instead, Cassandra moved closer to Vivienne, splaying her hands across the uninjured, smooth, hot skin of Vivienne’s stomach, thumbs finding the divots beneath Vivienne’s ribs.

Vivienne, in her kindness, leaned her forehead against Cassandra’s, the hair of Cassandra’s bangs pressing between them. Cassandra breathed. She didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t know why Vivienne was humouring her. She had nothing to gain from this. But there were Vivienne’s hands, moving up to grasp Cassandra’s shoulders, equally comforting.

Cassandra watched Vivienne lean in closer before she shut her eyes, unwilling to acknowledge what was transpiring. And Vivienne paused, giving Cassandra time to think. But Cassandra couldn’t think. All she could do was feel Vivienne’s warm breath against her lips, Vivienne’s reassuring hands on her shoulder. All she could think about was Vivienne’s mouth, just inches away from hers.

And she could feel, beneath her hands, Vivienne take in a shaky breath. That caused Cassandra to look again. Vivienne had just as much to lose here as Cassandra, if not more. She was a mage, duplicitous by default. Cassandra knew she wasn’t being bewitched, at least by any unnatural means, at least by any magical means. She leaned in to press her lips against Vivienne’s.

Vivienne’s hands moved to clasp Cassandra’s face, pulling her closer against her, and Cassandra spilled forward, moving Vivienne backwards on the couch. Vivienne’s legs spread open, hands clutching Cassandra’s jaw, and Cassandra moved between them, taking care not to touch Vivienne’s injury as she pursued her.

She did not know what it was she was doing, what she wanted to do, what she _could_ do, but Vivienne tasted sweet like wine and she was warm and her hands were kind and pliant and Cassandra _wanted_ her. Whatever that meant, all else be damned. She felt like fire, all-consuming and desperate.

Vivienne ran her hands along the backs of Cassandra’s arms, sending shivers up Cassandra’s spine. She wasn’t practiced, but she hoped she came off assured as she opened her mouth to glance her tongue along Vivienne’s lips, licking into her mouth. She heard Vivienne let out a soft sound she’d never heard before and that, if nothing else, caused Cassandra pause.

Vivienne surrendered Cassandra’s lips and leaned back so slightly, trailing her hands up to her shoulders. She’d kissed her. They had kissed. _“Vivienne,”_ Cassandra cried out, blame in her voice. But even if she had moved back, she was still holding onto Vivienne’s waist

Vivienne’s eyes were wide, and darker somehow, even her lips looking as though they’d been kissed, shining in the night. Her chest, rising and falling as she breathed. So, Vivienne wasn’t some untouchable thing.

“You must not tell anyone,” Cassandra blurted, jumping from Vivienne as though by reflex, standing on unsteady legs. Vivienne sat up slowly, as though not to frighten Cassandra.

“Of course,” she assured Cassandra. She was still half-naked but she looked no more vulnerable for it, though it was clear Cassandra’s reaction had worried her.

“We can forget about this,” Cassandra said, massaging her temple with her hand. “It was stupid of me. The wine.”

“Yes,” Vivienne lied along with her. “Wine is cause of much foolishness.” Though Cassandra had always held that drink just gave men will to do what they would have already done, and Cassandra had hardly drunk three sips. And there Vivienne lay on the couch, skin bare and shining deep red in the dim glow of the candlelight, breaths hard, Cassandra desperately wanted her.

“What about Bastien?” she asked. Vivienne’s posture stiffened. And Cassandra could see then just how inviting Vivienne had been to Cassandra’s advances, to see her close off like this.

“What of Bastien?” she asked.

Cassandra said nothing because to press Vivienne would be to acknowledge what had transpired.

“I _love_ Bastien,” Vivienne said, and she sounded sure but . . . here she was, on her couch, undressed and affected because because Cassandra had touched her flesh, because Cassandra had pressed their lips together, because _Cassandra_ had found her way between her legs.

Cassandra made a mistake. She asked, “Are you certain?”

Vivienne sat up ever straighter.

“Of _course,_ I am certain,” Vivienne hissed. She was silent for a moment, the look in her eye sharpening. “Get out.”

“Vivienne,” Cassandra stumbled, realizing she had offended. “I didn’t mean to –”

_“Leave,”_ Vivienne said, venomous, reaching over to grab Cassandra’s blouse and throwing it at her. Her eyes communicated perfectly clear that if Cassandra tried to say another word she’d be visited with nothing but wrath in response so Cassandra buttoned her blouse as she fled.

Was Cassandra a maiden or a warrior? She was a coward. That was all.

**III**

After that evening in Vivienne’s bedroom, Vivienne and Cassandra had hardly spoken. Even fighting at the Inquisitor’s side at the Winter Palace, Vivienne had only spared a few words for Cassandra when necessary. It was hard for Cassandra to tell if that was for Vivienne’s benefit or for her own. Still, festivities over, the Inquisition would be retiring to various quarters for the night, and leaving in the morning. This impromptu stayover had resulted in Vivienne and Cassandra sharing a room.

“Vivienne,” Cassandra greeted, catching up to Vivienne in the hallway. She felt awkward to broach conversation with Vivienne, as badly as she wanted to reconcile their relationship after offending her so gravely. Vivienne inclined her head in acknowledgement as they walked together. Cassandra nearly stumbled across a loose tile. Vivienne made her feel like a foolish girl.

“Are you still nervous?” Vivienne asked lightly.

“Of what?” Cassandra asked, a little more harshly than she intended. She glanced down at her feet. Offending Vivienne further is exactly what Cassandra did _not_ want to do. Vivienne seemed to sense that.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” she said. “I shall protect you from the vipers until we leave.” She was speaking of Halamshiral. That was a sign of forgiveness.

Cassandra let out a shaky breath. “Thank you,” she said. And she meant so many things with that. Vivienne’s gaze softened. It didn’t hurt to be polite and Vivienne laughed, delighted by Cassandra’s response. Cassandra may not respect the realm they entered, but they were within it, and Vivienne was a master.

“Do you miss the Palace?” Cassandra asked as they wandered the halls. Vivienne had worked closely with the Empress once.

“Of course, I do, dear,” Vivienne spoke quietly. When had Vivienne’s epithets for Cassandra move from ‘my dear’ to ‘dear’? “It is, after all, where I met Bastien.” Cassandra held her surprise to herself, waiting quietly for Vivienne to go on. Vivienne took a mild sip of her drink, just to taste, just for appearances, though no one was watching but Cassandra.

“It was the Wintersend Ball,” she said. “I met Bastien when I was twenty years old. He was twice my age, married, and utterly insistent I not limit myself to him or anyone. He recognized potential in me. If I was his flower, he nurtured me in a garden, not plucked and preserved me as any man in his position might have done.”

Cassandra received the impression that she was being trusted with information Vivienne did not give away lightly, if at all. “Were you, and his wife . . .” Cassandra asked, trying not to cause further offense even while she was curious.

“No, darling, Nicoline and I were but close friends,” Vivienne replied.

“I . . . apologize for . . . for what I said,” Cassandra said. It was difficult to do, but she knew Vivienne deserved it. “For my assumptions.”

“Yes,” Vivienne said. “Assuming what another feels is rarely productive.” But there was something like forgiveness in her voice, and it unburdened Cassandra.

“I don’t know what the Inquisitor was thinking,” Cassandra spoke up, eager for the change in topic. “I wanted Gaspard, but not like this.” It made perfect sense as to why Vivienne would prefer Celene to Gaspard, but the outcome here had been completely unprecedented.

“It will be interesting to see what the elf will do,” Vivienne said neutrally. Of _course_ Vivienne would be in favour, or at least not wholly opposed, to whatever machinating Briala would do with Orlais’ movements, cloaked in Gaspard’s shadow. Vivienne had no qualms for such games. Still, Cassandra thought it best to hold her tongue, at least for the night. It had been a long day.

“You won’t be skittish if I light the candles, will you?” Vivienne asked as they found their room and entered, something teasing in her voice.

“I am _not_ skittish,” Cassandra sulked. Vivienne’s laughter was as delicate as a babbling brook, but it was genuine. She lit the candles with a graceful flick of her wrist and turned back to Cassandra with a small smile on her lips. Cassandra, nervous, quickly cleared the room to bathe, incredibly aware of Vivienne’s presence waiting in the bedroom.

She ran the hot water and began stripping out of her clothing. She hadn’t packed sleeping garments, or much of a change of clothes outside her armor, intent on sleeping in her underwear if need be. And now, apparently that’s what the situation called for. She planted fresh underclothes by the sink and caught sight of herself in the ornate mirror hung in the bathroom, lit by candle light.

She looked a hideous mess, tired and flushed. She stood there, ungainly and nude, too muscular to present a soft feminine form, but not masculine enough to make a decent man. And yet, Vivienne had desired her, however briefly. Cassandra was an idiot. It had been so long since Cassandra and Vivienne had properly spoken to each other and here Cassandra was again, hopeful and blushing like a child. She had no right to expect anything from Vivienne. She had squandered that chance.

She got into the bath, scrubbing off the day’s sweat and blood, water darkening with her exertion. She washed her hair, trying not to imagine Vivienne’s hands on her scalp, massaging her body, trying not to see Vivienne in the bath with her, reaching low and sure. There were two beds in the other room. Cassandra dried herself, doing up her damp hair into its usual braid and clipping it in place before dressing into her clean underwear and stepping back into the bedroom.

“How I’ve missed these sheets,” Vivienne mused, lying comfortably in the bed Cassandra had claimed. “Skyhold is a grade higher than Haven by far but Orlesian linens cannot be outmatched.” Cassandra chose to believe her.

The nightgown Vivienne had changed into was sheer and silver, a much more befitting garment than the garish, red uniform that the entire Inquisition wore to identify themselves. Vivienne did not look at all like she had cut her way through assassins all day by Cassandra’s side. Somehow, she looked as fresh as spring.

Cassandra felt very close to passing out from exhaustion but . . . there was something electrifying and invigorating about being so close to Vivienne again, and forgiven. She sat next to Vivienne on the bed, perfectly content to preserve the distance between them, not intending on trespassing any boundary.

“Do you have any injuries for me to tend to?” Vivienne asked lazily. Cassandra nearly regretted downing that last elfroot potion if it meant Vivienne would touch her. She smiled.

“Just a little stiff,” she said. Vivienne nodded, but didn’t otherwise respond. Cassandra took a breath. “Yourself?” she asked.

Vivienne turned her face to look Cassandra over. Cassandra could almost feel Vivienne’s eyes on her, looking across face, then her shoulders and chest, down past her underwear to stomach, her thighs. “I’m alright, dear,” she replied, settling down. She waved her hand and a few of the candles sputtered out, sending gray plumes of smoke wafting across the table.

“I would not think less of you if you weren’t,” Cassandra murmured. Vivienne had been in her element here, just as at home and in control as she was anywhere else. The only times Cassandra had ever seen Vivienne out of control had been those times where Cassandra herself had been utterly lost. And she missed that. She missed those moments.

Vivienne’s gaze was thoughtful. “What do you think of me, Cassandra?” she asked. And those words were bold, frightening.

“How do you mean?” Cassandra asked. If Vivienne wanted Cassandra to speak out loud what Cassandra truly felt about her, she did not think her throat would have the strength to sustain the words.

“Do you think,” Vivienne began, turning her face away from Cassandra, “if I truly loved Bastien, that I would be at his side? As a wife would be.” Not with the Inquisition, not with Cassandra. That was seemingly a simpler question to answer, but Cassandra had her troubles with it all the same.

“I believe, if Bastien is worth loving, he would want you . . .” she began. She lay down on the bed next to Vivienne, enjoying the feel of sheets on her elbow as she leaned above her. “ _Here_.” Perhaps even with Cassandra.

“Is that so?” Vivienne asked, no doubt curious about Cassandra’s charitability, her greed.

“I . . . judge rashly, and often,” Cassandra admitted. “But you do have a place with the Inquisition . . . more often than not when I . . . pass judgement on you, I am passing judgement on myself.” And that was the truth of it.

Cassandra looked down at Vivienne. Her robe pooled comfortably about her waist, and she looked quietly stunning but Cassandra wasn’t able to meet her eye. She looked instead at Vivienne’s hand, at her manicured nails. “I lost the only man I ever loved in the Conclave,” Cassandra said, voice tight. “I wonder at times if . . . my actions are inappropriate. If I should . . . be more . . . _broken_ by my loss.” If everyone had been correct, that Cassandra was incapable of real love.

“And how would this man feel about the actions you’ve taken?” Vivienne asked soothingly.

Cassandra couldn’t help but smile. “I should think he would be proud,” she said. She stared at Vivienne’s hands until they blurred. “But then there’s you,” she confessed, voice tight. Vivienne reached up to stroke Cassandra’s cheek as Cassandra tried her damndest to keep from crying. “And then I’m not so sure.” Perhaps Cassandra _was_ heartless.

But Vivienne’s hand was sure on Cassandra’s face. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Cassandra,” she murmured. “Would he begrudge you pleasure? Joy?” And Cassandra knew he wouldn’t. But this . . . between two women . . .

“May I?” Cassandra asked, impulsive. She could not say the words out loud. She would not begrudge Vivienne’s rejection, but she had to ask. Vivienne smiled, cradling Cassandra’s jaw between her hands.

“You may,” she agreed. And Cassandra bowed down to kiss her.

Her desire tackled her heavily and she pressed Vivienne down into the sheets, touching her from tip to toe, holding onto her waist desperately. She hadn’t realized how much she had wanted this until she had it in her grasp. And she knew, she _knew_ she wasn’t heartless. She could light entire countries with how she felt.

“Cassandra,” Vivienne murmured. Cassandra kissed her neck. Her hands were trembling. She’d felled great dragons, some of them at Vivienne’s side, and yet this. This she could not steel herself against. “My dear, you needn’t force yourself,” Vivienne said, ducking down to murmer the words quietly into Cassandra’s cheek, her lips brushing against Cassandra’s ear, causing a shiver to shake her.

“No,” Cassandra said. She wanted this. Wanted this to the point where she felt her legs couldn’t sustain her should she try to walk away. “I don’t know what to do,” Cassandra admitted. Vivienne smiled with a seeming sense of relief and satisfaction. She pulled their bodies along to sit up in bed and she made herself comfortable against Cassandra.

“You’re an intelligent woman, Cassandra,” she purred, moving to seat herself directly in Cassandra’s lap, her body hot in Cassandra’s grasp. “I have full confidence you can think of something.”

But Cassandra _didn’t_ know what to do. She had slept with one man and she’d hardly ever touched herself. There had never been much satisfaction to it anyhow. Truly, the closest thing that Cassandra ever permitted herself reach in relation to . . . gratification, was what she had read in novels. Grand, sweeping tales about love beyond station, beyond destiny, beyond death.

There was such passion to these tales that made Cassandra aspire for more and there was nothing in all the smutty, smutty books Cassandra had read over her thirty-eight years of life that told her how she should touch Vivienne. There was nothing in those books that had taught her how to touch, only how to be touched, how to accept bliss and love bestowed upon her like a knighting. But she wanted Vivienne so badly, and the intensity of her desires choked her.

She reached for the bows of Vivienne’s robe, undoing them with her shaking fingers to reveal Vivienne’s naked breasts beneath. The smooth form of her stomach, her thighs, and her sex, framed by the silk fabric pooling around her. Before Cassandra could become too enamoured by the sight, Vivienne had reached up behind her to pull at her top. Cassandra desperately stripped it off and Vivienne cupped her breast, swiping her thumb across Cassandra’s nipple, pleasure sparking in response.

Vivienne’s kiss was strong like alcohol, licking teasingly into Cassandra’s mouth, unlike anything Cassandra had ever experienced. It was heady, disorienting, to feel Vivienne’s mouth on her mouth, tongue on her tongue, that gentle press and tug of teeth on Cassandra’s lower lip as Vivienne found the waistband of Cassandra’s underwear and pulled it down inch by inch.

They were naked now, pressed together from breast to stomach, Vivienne’s leg finding its way between Cassandra’s thighs and Cassandra felt almost out of control. She gripped Vivienne’s shoulders, kissing her as best she could, stunned at the small moans Vivienne let out. But Cassandra couldn’t . . . she couldn’t just . . . she parted them.

“I’ve _never,”_ Cassandra gasped out. And Vivienne’s expression, turned into something gentler. It wasn’t pitying, praise the Maker, but it had some hint of sorrow. “I don’t know what this means,” Cassandra admitted, ducking her head, her hair brushing against Vivienne’s chest. She felt like a child awash in the terror of a thunderstorm.

“You’ve truly never done this,” Vivienne murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you think I had?” Cassandra asked, not wanting to feel defensive but feeling as such all the same. “Been with a woman?” She knew how she looked.

“I couldn’t assume,” Vivienne said, reaching up to card her fingers through Cassandra’s short hair, undoing the braid nestled tight to her scalp. Her touch was soothing. “How one looks doesn’t determine what one desires, what one pursues, my darling. Life would certainly be easier if it was so.” If it were so, Cassandra might have never changed from her dresses to her armor.

“I simply see that you are far more delicate than I had anticipated,” Vivienne said. Cassandra didn’t know what it meant. She felt humiliation creep in along her back and neck. “You need a gentler touch.”

“I don’t need to be coddled,” Cassandra argued. “I,” she managed, feeling frustrated. “I want this.” _I want you._ “I simply need . . . instruction.” Vivienne smiled indulgently, pressing a soft kiss against Cassandra’s cheekbone. The tenderness of her touch made Cassandra feel much lighter.

“I can show you,” Vivienne murmured, encouraging.

“I want,” Cassandra said, words coming out stilted. She took a breath, unclenching her fists. She looked at Vivienne, in all her unclothed glory. “I want to touch you.” _Badly._ “I simply don’t know how.”

Vivienne seemed both stunned and perfectly expectant of Cassandra’s response. Cassandra didn’t know how she should feel about that. “How many have you been with?” Vivienne asked.

“Just one,” Cassandra breathed out. She hastened to clarify, though perhaps she needn’t, “A man.”

“And when he pleasured you,” Vivienne said, leaning in to speak against Cassandra’s neck. Cassandra shivered. “What did he do?”

“Nothing I am capable of doing to you, Vivienne,” Cassandra laughed.

“All the more pity,” Vivienne replied, suddenly standing up and settling even more firmly in Cassandra’s lap, ever closer, placing Cassandra at eye level with her chest. Shamefully, Cassandra’s mouth watered to watch Vivienne move. She hadn’t known it could be like this.

“What do you mean?” she asked, throat dry.

Vivienne smiled, almost cheerfully, and took Cassandra’s hand in hers. She brought Cassandra’s knuckles to her face and planted a tender kiss upon them, before raising them to her lips, and taking them into her mouth. “Vivienne,” Cassandra croaked as Vivienne’s tongue played across them. “What are you –” Vivienne brought the fingers out of her mouth and led Cassandra’s hand between her thighs.

“Can you think of what to do now?” she asked sweetly. “Or shall I literally hold your hand throughout?”

“You mean –” Cassandra gasped. “You mean for me to touch you – there . . .”

“You don’t have to, dear,” Vivienne laughed. She didn’t know how badly Cassandra wanted this. Cassandra grit her jaw and glanced downwards, to where Vivienne was settled above her, legs splayed. Cassandra had always had some part of her that had wanted to be part of some sweeping romance, some man to come and sweep her off her feet despite the way she appeared. Really, she had just wanted to be cherished, known. It was what she felt at this moment.

“Gently,” Vivienne spoke up, a little concerned. Cassandra looked up at Vivienne again, her knowing eyes, her high cheekbones, her plump lips. She would never hurt her. And, carefully, Cassandra traced Vivienne’s entrance.

Vivienne took in a breath, apprehensive, excited, and Cassandra completed another circle before slowly breaching her with her index finger. Cassandra gasped. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Vivienne was warm and wet and – and breathing around her, twitching. Cassandra pressed deeper, until she could go no more, and Vivienne rocked her hips against Cassandra’s hand.

“Bring your palm, close – closer,” she requested. Cassandra pressed her entire hand flat against Vivienne, cupping her. Vivienne let out a small note of satisfaction. “Add another finger,” she requested.

“Which one?” Cassandra asked.

“Well, not your thumb, dear,” Vivienne replied, smirking a little. Cassandra felt a little offended, but when she hastened to add her middle finger, she withdrew her index and Vivienne gasped, smirk vanishing. It was . . . humbling, to see someone so reactive to Cassandra’s every move. Cassandra had never had this power, this intimacy, with anyone, not even Regalyan.

Careful not to move too quickly, Cassandra pressed her two fingers against Vivienne’s waiting entrance, and began to slide in once again. And with this unhurried pace Vivienne did moan out of frustration. Cassandra found herself grinning, exhilarated, and pressing in just that bit faster, amazed at the way Vivienne’s body spread to meet her, adapting to her.

Vivienne was wet and Cassandra too felt herself – _pulsing_ with desire. But in her heart all she wanted was to bring Vivienne to satisfaction, all else could wait. She pushed deeper and deeper into Vivienne, until she was buried to the hilt in her. There, she paused, stunned to be so close to this powerful woman, to see her so vulnerable and wanton. And then, with Cassandra’s inactivity, Vivienne began to move.

It was incredibly erotic, the way Vivienne rode Cassandra’s hand. Graceful as always, but with the same determination she carried in battle. She placed her arms around Cassandra’s shoulders, breasts brushing against Cassandra’s collar bone, long nails carding against Cassandra’s skin. It sent shivers up Cassandra’s spine and Cassandra gripped Vivienne’s hip with her free hand, helping guide Vivienne’s thrusts best she could.

“How do you feel?” Cassandra asked anxiously. Vivienne thrust Cassandra’s fingers deeper within her and Cassandra nearly moaned at the sensation. Vivienne was hot, soaking, and depravedly Cassandra wanted to experience it as closely as she could.

“I feel,” Vivienne mouthed into her neck. “Like you could stand to participate a little more actively, my darling.” Cassandra would never say that she whimpered, but she certainly made some noise in response.

She wasn’t certain what to do, but tentatively she flexed her fingers. She tried, gently, pushing in deeper, thrusting in and out, and was rewarded by a little breathless blasphemy from Vivienne. Cassandra shouldn’t have found it as attractive, and yet she repeated those movements often enough for Vivienne to anticipate them and begin to meet them with a twist of her hips.

Cassandra pressed her forehead into Vivienne’s chest, breathing her in. “How does it feel, Vivienne?” she asked, voice lower than she was expecting. Vivienne was silent for a moment, still rolling her hips onto Cassandra’s hand, like the tide onto the beach, in and out, distracted. Cassandra glanced upwards and Vivienne opened her eyes slowly. They were a deep, rich black, and Vivienne reached down to kiss Cassandra.

And Cassandra had missed this, more than she could have possibly acknowledged. Vivienne’s tongue, talented and sure, the cut of her teeth on Cassandra’s mouth, just sharp enough to entice. Cassandra could feel Vivienne’s flutter around her fingers, a part of herself Vivienne allowed few people have. This was hers. This was Cassandra’s, if just for now.

Desire burning holes in Cassandra’s gut, she asked, “What do you want from me?”

“Deeper,” Vivienne gasped, unbelievably affected. She was so beautiful. “Harder, pull me –”

Cassandra leaned up as far as she could and kissed Vivienne’s neck. Vivienne threw her head back, one hand going to massage her breast, arm brushing against Cassandra’s collarbone. Feeling irrationally jealous, Cassandra’s hand moved upwards to find itself beneath Vivienne’s, carefully mimicking Vivienne’s actions.

Vivienne’s fingers hooked around Cassandra’s hand as Cassandra hesitantly ran her thumb across her nipple, standing hard against Cassandra’s hand. “Cassandra,” Vivienne moaned. Every time Vivienne spoke her name Cassandra felt more bewitched by her. Cassandra didn’t know that she could have ever felt so passionate, lungs burning, heart pounding, and between her legs –

Vivienne leaned back and Cassandra’s hand darted to grip her waist, holding her even while Vivienne’s head rolled back, exposing her chest. Impulsively, Cassandra leaned in and took Vivienne’s breast into her mouth, tasting her, running her tongue along her nipple, sucking gently. Vivienne groaned. “You’re a fast learner,” Vivienne noted. Cassandra did not wish to tell Vivienne that this was something she had picked up from one of Varric’s novels, so she wouldn’t.

Instead, she doubled down, swallowing Vivienne, marveling at the texture, as Vivienne tipped her onto her back. Cassandra was a mess, staring up at Vivienne, legs splayed open and groin aching and wet.

“Touch me with your other hand,” Vivienne begged, reaching down to massage just above Cassandra’s fingers. “Here. Gently, Cassandra –” Cassandra was helpless but to obey, reaching down to stroke Vivienne. Vivienne was so close, Cassandra could hear her inhale sharply, before Vivienne was leaning back, her breasts obscuring most of her as she went, and then Cassandra felt her. Vivienne’s hand between Cassandra’s legs.

Vivienne ground her palm just above Cassandra’s entrance and Cassandra felt a flash of incredible pleasure flush through her, her legs clamping down on Vivienne’s hand. Not to be distracted, and desperate to satisfy Vivienne, Cassandra worked ever harder on bringing Vivienne off. She began rocking her fingers back and forth in Vivienne with purpose, gently massaging Vivienne as she went.

“Cassandra!” Vivienne moaned and, emboldened, Cassandra moved to sit up again, mouthing herself along Vivienne’s chest, striking against the parts of Vivienne that made her moan and cling to Cassandra’s fingers as as deeply and soundly as she could, dancing her other hand as quickly against Vivienne as possible, until Vivienne was panting, legs parted as far as they could, wet and lazy and clenching onto Cassandra’s fingers.

Vivienne reached down with both her hands, fastening them onto Cassandra’s wrists to still her, breathing heavily. Cassandra looked at her face then, eyes sated and warm with desire, and she gingerly slid her fingers out of Vivienne’s body. Vivienne let out a small sigh and moved off of Cassandra, settling down next to her.

Curiosity got the better of her and Cassandra tasted her fingers, the sweet, mellow flavor of Vivienne’s satisfaction. Vivienne watched her, smiling, aroused, leaning in to kiss her.

“Cassandra,” she murmured when they parted, tracing a finger along Cassandra’s collarbone. “Please allow me to return the favour.” Cassandra balked at the thought of Vivienne’s nails travelling anywhere near her nether regions.

“If it is alright with you,” Cassandra said carefully. “I would rather not.”

“My darling,” Vivienne said, smiling languidly. “I have been told I am sharp-tongued with a talented mouth. I believe I shall like to prove it to you just as true inside the bedroom as it is outside.” She turned over onto her back and beckoned Cassandra closer. Cassandra, helpless, followed her.

Afterwards, sated and silly, Cassandra clambered off of Vivienne’s face and pulled Vivienne into her arms, holding her tightly against her chest. Vivienne had been relentless, wildly skilled, and so dainty throughout her entire reign over Cassandra’s trembling body that Cassandra could have thought she had been sampling a fine wine.

Cassandra pressed her lips firmly to Vivienne’s, tasting a hint of herself there, and the thought of sinking between Vivienne’s legs and discovering the taste for herself invigorated her. But they were both tired. It had been an incredibly long day and Cassandra could ask for no more than this – Vivienne kissing her back, both delicate and firm.

Vivienne rest her head upon Cassandra’s chest, closing her eyes, smiling, and Cassandra took the opportunity to admire her. Vivienne always looked young for her age, skin lush and smooth, and even upon closer inspection she was . . . unbelievably beautiful, wrinkles and all. Vivienne’s age showed itself mostly in the way Vivienne carried herself – in her maturity and her measure, the severity of a teacher, the wisdom of a soul that had lived a long and difficult life.

But here, after coming into pleasure, safe and warm in bed next to Cassandra, Vivienne seemed nearly girlish. Free from all burdens she carried with her. And she _was_ beautiful – absolutely. Cassandra did not know what it was Vivienne wanted from her, what she expected of her, but what she knew was that Cassandra would always have this night to look back upon. She couldn’t feel shame.

Perhaps they would even continue this for awhile, though Cassandra knew there could be no future here. There was a strong chance there would be no future for Thedas, much less a future for Cassandra and one of the most influential mages in the land. The world was too rough, too unpredictable, and Cassandra could not expect Vivienne to take on the vulnerability that Cassandra had bundled up beneath her armor. This was enough. It had to be.

Of course . . . this meant Cassandra had to admit a few things about herself. That it wasn’t so simple as to say that Cassandra only desired men. On some level, Cassandra must have always known, but it was always too dangerous to acknowledge. Here, with Vivienne, who was under as much scrutiny and knew to keep secrets far better than even Cassandra, only here could Cassandra admit this fact.

As well, Cassandra couldn’t pretend that she dressed as she dressed because it was practical when Vivienne so often dressed impractically and was just as powerful as Cassandra, more powerful. But still, Vivienne’s femininity was different. Her own. Like an ornate weapon. Between her and Josephine and Leliana and Sera there were so many different forms of femininity, each with their own strengths, and the truth was perhaps that this Cassandra’s own form. Others could see it as they wished. There would be those that would see it for what it was. There would be those that would see Cassandra.

“They will consider you for position of Divine,” Vivienne spoke up, languid and satisfied.

A few months ago Cassandra might have thought Vivienne was attempting to curry favour. But then, a few months ago Cassandra would have thought that impossible. Being with Vivienne had not altered her mind on her opinions of mages. Mages were dangerous, for that she and Vivienne were of one mind.

“Yes,” Cassandra agreed.

“You make a strong choice,” Vivienne spoke into Cassandra’s shoulder. It tickled and Cassandra smiled.

“Are you not biased?” she asked. Her lungs ached, but in a good way.

“I’m never biased, dear,” Vivienne said, settling deeper into Cassandra’s arms.

“Why me?” Cassandra asked quietly. If there was anyone here Vivienne could want, certainly she could have them, especially considering that Vivienne apparently desired men as well as women. Cassandra until recently hadn’t even be able to admit that she desired women, desired Vivienne. Why would Vivienne take her on?

“You were the Divine’s Right Hand,” Vivienne responded. “Present at the Chantry explosion, you were _instrumental_ in raising the Inquisition.”

“I mean,” Cassandra said, clearing her throat. She didn’t have the words. In truth, Cassandra had no strong ambitions to be Divine, and none of that truly mattered as much as this. Vivienne’s expression softened looking at Cassandra.

“I came to you because I found you arousing,” she replied, running her hand across Cassandra’s arm, along the scars there. Cassandra shivered at her words. “Not simply in the carnal sense. But within the sense that I truly adore women like you, Cassandra.”

“Women who look like men, you mean,” Cassandra scoffed, shifting.

“You look and act like yourself, my darling,” Vivienne replied. “Nothing less.” Cassandra’s throat felt tight, all of a sudden. She leaned in to press a kiss into Vivienne’s shoulder, and Vivienne shuffled next to her in bed, pleased with the attention.

Cassandra didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. She suspected neither she nor Vivienne would see fit to make had transpired this night, and days before, public. But she also suspected that this, these moments of affection, would not stop, nor would she want them to. But for tonight, she took Vivienne and her words close to her breast, and slept well.

**Author's Note:**

> I was admonished to adopt feminine clothes; I refused, and still refuse. As for other avocations of women, there are plenty of other women to perform them. – Jean d’Arc


End file.
